


Eleanor in Letters to Cleo

by Ending_Daley



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M, Family, Knope Wyatt triplets - Freeform, random dribble it's all dribble really, whats a tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2653625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ending_Daley/pseuds/Ending_Daley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An insight into a late night in the Knope Wyatt household between Ben and his young daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eleanor in Letters to Cleo

‘Daddy?’ a voice called out to him in the dark of their downstairs living room.

The lights had been turned off, one by one, as Leslie dragged herself off to bed an hour ago. Ben was left behind on his laptop, finishing off expense reports and waiting for the late night reruns of _Firefly_ with the volume down low.

The house was sleeping quietly, breathing with the gentle thrum of electricity on standby. The house sat patiently, a gentle life raft on their furious sea. No matter what was happening with Leslie’s campaigns they had this house. This home was ground zero; base camp.

He heard the stairs creak before she called out to him. A subtle creak crooning to her gentle voice. It was only fair that she spoke up once the stairs gave her away. He turned his attention towards her, soft hum on his lips as he sought out the little girl in the dark.

She teetered on the edge of the stairs, her foot daring to step down into the living room. She teased the bottom step, body lit by the gentle blue hue from the television screen. ‘Daddy,’ she whispered, the word pronounced on a cautious whine. ‘I’m not in bed,’ she anticipated his first question, ‘because my tummy hurts.’ He could see the small, painful pout on her little face even in the dark light.

‘Oh, Ellie baby, come here.’ Ben moved his laptop to the space beside him, before opening his arms out for the little girl. Eleanor padded quickly across the room, like something would catch her had she hesitated. She climbed into her father’s lap easily, snuggling against his chest as she had done since she was born. He cradled her, revelling in the moments that she would curl up in his lap, where she would grasp his shirt in between her tiny fingers and let the world go.

Eleanor was small for seven-years-old. She was already shorter than her brothers and the other girls in her first grade class. Ben and Leslie knew she was only going to take after her mother in height, as she had done in everything else but her pop culture tastes.

Gently, he rubbed her back, his hand moving firmly over the cream fabric of his old _Letters to Cleo_ t-shirt that sat on her back. Ben couldn’t place when his little daughter had initially abducted his shirt. It had turned up in her pyjama drawer during flu season sometime in the last few years. He didn’t have the heart to take it away. She swam in the fabric, the shirt no longer a shirt but a nightgown riddled with well worn holes.

‘Did Andy feed you too much sugar?’ Ben asked with a stern voice. He loved Andy and April, and was truly grateful for their help, but there had been a few occasions when the children were returned hyped up on sugar. Ellie shook her head.

_‘Was it dinner?’_

_‘Are you feeling sick other than your tummy?’_

_‘Are you worried about something?’_

_‘Are the boys being mean?’_

_‘Is someone being mean at school?’_

_‘Do you want to climb into bed with mommy?’_

She responded to each question with a shake of her head against his chest. Gold hairs tickled his chin as she denied every one of his questions. Ben kissed the top of his daughter’s head, cradling her tighter as worry sunk a little deeper into his mind. Should he run her to the hospital? She said she wasn’t feeling sick, and surely she wasn’t lying to him about school, she was only seven.

‘What’s wrong, bug?’ Genuine concern wrapped itself around his words. He hated when the kids were sick, there was nothing worse than their sniffling noses and aching stomachs.

‘My tummy hurts just ‘cause.’ Ellie shrugged her shoulders, little voice projecting how tired she was. ‘Is that _Firefly_?’ She asked, quietly, innocent enough that Ben didn’t think she crawled down the stairs to watch it with him. He hummed, rocking her softly, thinking back on the days where he would rock her all night.

He held one of her little feet in his spare hand, rubbing the small sole as he cuddled her. ‘Okay, El Bug, I can get you some yoghurt, camomile tea or just cuddles. That’s all I can do for you.’

‘Jus’ cuddles,’ she mumbled her little eyes half closed. He watched her eyelashes flutter like butterflies against her cheek, teasing the surface as she forced herself to stay awake.

Ben succumbed to his daughter’s wishes, cuddling the little blonde girl tight to his chest. He inhaled the warm smell of lilies on her skin. He loved her insistence to smell like her mother, using the same soap that she used over the generic brand her grimy brothers loved. He saw Leslie in every inch of his daughter, from her stubborn passion to her giggly personality.

Eleanor was one small miracle in their lives, she and her brothers made up the picture of a greater whole. Ben had to admit he had a slight soft spot for his only girl, and her striking resemblance to her mother.

She had abducted his heart. Ellie fell into the world so silently, gracing her life with gentle footsteps and a soft voice. She snuck into the crevices of his world, not as boisterous as her brothers who were as loud as happy dogs, but as the gentle bird who sung sweetly from the window. She snuck into his clothes drawers, leaving socks and singlets covered in princesses and pink. She crept into his t-shirt drawer, his clothes neatly folded, where she found the love worn t-shirt. The band was somewhat familiar to her ears; but not completely recognizable. She took it regardless, claiming it as her own without his permission.

He let her have it. Without comment. Watching his cold addled daughter sniffle and cough around the house in his too big t-shirt was a heart-warming promise that she was his. Always. There was no doubt, but he loved the reminder. The spark that even though she looked and acted like her mother, she had his tastes; his love for sci-fi and his admiration for 90s rock bands no one remembers, but should.    

 

**Author's Note:**

> This, for the moment, is a stand alone piece. While classes are out, and inbetween work, I might scribble a few more drabbles. But, we'll see. 
> 
> If you have any prompts, questions, or anything else. You can find me at poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr or at my Parks and Rec sideblog wafflescreamandsugar.tumblr. 
> 
> Feedback is appreciated.  
> Lucy.


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